The next morning, I decided it was time to approach the issue more directly. I called our insurance provider again, asking for a more detailed history of recent policy adjustments. As I waited, the hold music droning in my ear, I wondered how long I’d been living in this fog of half-truths.
The representative returned to the line, confirming that changes had been made, all authorized by my spouse. I thanked them, my voice steady despite the growing knot in my chest. This was the confirmation I needed, yet it felt like a punch to the gut.
That night, as we sat in the living room, I broached the subject with a calm I didn’t feel. “I’ve been going over our insurance,” I said, meeting my spouse’s eyes. “It seems like there have been some changes I wasn’t aware of. Can we talk about why that happened?”
They hesitated, their eyes flicking to the paperwork on the coffee table. “I thought I was helping,” they said softly, their voice tinged with regret. “Things have been so stressful, and I didn’t want to burden you with more decisions.”
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